Hurt
by AbbyGibbs
Summary: Molly is desperate, she loves him so much that it hurts. It hurts so much that he does what he does without even thinking.
1. Chapter 1

**Hurt**

 **Author:** AbbyGibbs

 **Disclaimers:** Everything belongs to the BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat Mark Gatiss.

 **Pairing:** Sherlock/Molly. Sort of, I think

 **Rating: T** (+13 to as always to be on the safe side, isn't it?)

 **Spoilers:** None

 **Summary:** Molly is desperate, she loves him so much that it hurts. It hurts so much that he does what he does without even thinking.

 **Author's note: I'm a newbie here, and I feel, like I'm about to jump of a cliff here. But I love the show and I felt I had to try and write something about it, I would like to apologize in advance if anyone has already though of this idea for a story, but on the hand, nobody writes the same way, right? Anyway, I just hope from the bottom of my heart that this won't be too bad. And hope you'll read it and enjoy it, at least, a little bit.**

 **Thank you to Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman and all them member of the cast and crew for making "Sherlock" such a delight to watch.**

 **And lastly, I would like to say a big thank you to** MrsMCrieff **without whom, I probably never would have written this.**

 **Feedbacks: well, I'd love them, of course – who wouldn't? But please, only if you respect my work because it takes a lot of time and energy to get a story together. I love writing; I wouldn't allow anyone to discourage me from doing so, never. I don't have any problems at all with readers who choose not to go for this, but I decidedly do with those who write disrespectful mails just because they didn't get the ending they would have wanted. If you want to tell me what I might have done better within the story I made up, you're always very welcome to let me know. But if your only concern is to rant about it, then please, do it in private, okay? Thank you.**

 **Chapter 1**

Molly was slowly waking up, she felt horrible, she'd had only a short night sleep. She couldn't help but think of him, yet again. It was like she couldn't do otherwise, for some dumb reason, though he didn't deserve it. He was so, selfish and self-centered most of the time, obnoxious, arrogant… but the thing was, he was so much more, he had a brilliant mind, wonderful detecting skills, he could be nice when he wanted; the last one didn't happen very often, unfortunately, but it did happen. Sherlock Holmes was also a very tall and elegant man, a real pleasure to look at.

If only… if only, he could see her, the way she saw him.

Loving someone who doesn't love you back is like sitting on an emotional rollercoaster. One moment, you're happy because he smiles at you and the next, you're crying your eyes out because he ignores you on purpose and when he finally deigns to talk to you, he's rude. Molly knew she should be used to it by now and, in a way she was, but she still felt a pang of hurt each time. He often acted with her as if she was just an instrument that stood there; that he could use whenever it pleased him. For god's sake, he treated his violin with more care.

She knew she had to get up, she needed to get ready for work, but for some reason, she wasn't looking forward to it. Well actually she knew why… Sherlock would probably breeze in as if he owned the place, like he always did and he would expect her to do whatever was needed for him. Maybe to carry out one of his experiments that would, in the end, allow him to solve a case. Well today, Molly decided, she wouldn't help him.

She pushed the covers off her legs and got out of bed. The first thing she did was feed her cat, Toby, before heading to the bathroom to take a well needed morning shower. She hoped it would help her clear her head of thoughts of Sherlock, then she would make herself a nice cup of tea before heading to Bart's. Well, the shower only served her to clean her but didn't do anything to help her to get rid of her thoughts about the only Consulting Detective in England.

Molly fished for a towel, and wrapped herself in it. She then took a second one, and dried her hair roughly. Using the hair dryer would have to wait, right now she desperately needed a cup of tea. As she made her way to the kitchen she wondered briefly what this new day would bring her. What kind of people would end up on her autopsy table? As she put on her kettle. and as she waited for the water to boil she walked toward the only window that gave light into her small living-room.

Great, it was raining. Oh well, it's a perfect match for the way I feel. Molly thought to herself. The clouds seemed to have settled right above the city, it added an aura of mystery to it, and she found herself loving it.

She sighed heavily and turned her attention back to the kettle, and saw that the water was boiling. A few moments later and Molly was holding the tea cup in both hands, enjoying the warmth it provided her. In times like these, she felt a bit of an ugly duckling. Not that she really had any problem finding someone to be with; she wasn't exactly a virgin after all, but she hadn't really made love with any of them… no, she'd had sex with them. Love never came into the equation. It was impossible for love to be a part of the equation because there was only one man she would ever love. No matter how hard she tried to deny it to herself, or to anyone else that man's name was Sherlock Holmes. The problem though was that that love was a one-way street.

And yet, her heart didn't seem to want to give up. No matter what she did or said to try and convince herself that she should move on, her heart didn't want to hear it. It only seemed to beat for the man who played his violin from time to time and lived in 221B Baker Street.

What was there left to do? She couldn't avoid him for the rest of her life, could she? Molly had toyed with the idea of leaving, but she couldn't afford it, and anyway she didn't want to. She wasn't the kind to run away from her problems, she never had and certainly wasn't about to start now.

Maybe if she tried to confront him; he might brush her off or even reject her, maybe find her ridiculous even, though Molly Hooper wasn't sure she would be able to endure that, but on the other hand she couldn't stay like this. It wasn't healthy. As she gave it some more thought, she decided, that confrontation would be the best way. After all, she had already slapped him across the face more than once. A smile found its way to her lips at the thought.

She had a feeling that the hard way would be the best way for her to approach Sherlock. That way he might understand something. The truth was she loved him too much and for her own sake she had to do something,

And as much as she wanted to, Molly realized she couldn't give up on him, because if she did, it would feel like she would be giving up on herself as well; giving up on them, and that was something she wasn't ready to do, not just yet.

Molly brought her cup of tea to her lips, surprised to find it was empty. When had she drunk it? She wondered briefly.

She placed the empty mug on the table and her head fill with thoughts on how she would confront Sherlock. Finally, she rushed into the bathroom to dry her hair as she realized with horror how late it already was. If she didn't get a move on she would miss her train and be late for work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Good morning, Sherlock." Came John's greeting, as he walked through the door.

As a response, he only received a grumble.

"Ah, I see, I should have greeting you with: Good morning, grumpy instead of Sherlock. Strange seeing that you are fully dressed. Care to tell me what's on your mind? Though, I don't even know why exactly I'm asking you this because you never tell me anything, but… oh yes, now I remember why I keep asking you even though you don't answer; I'm asking out of courtesy."

Sherlock huffed and it was clear the man was annoyed by something. When his friend was like this, John knew he shouldn't expect a response from him and was surprise when he received one: "I don't know, John. I can't seem to find anything to do with myself, it's frustrating!"

John Watson turned at his words, it wasn't like his friend not to find anything to do. When he took a closer look, he realized that Sherlock seemed… unsettled. That in itself was unusual for him; well not when he was on a case where he couldn't get a hold on a killer, then he could be unsettled. Now though there wasn't any case, and his friend was always busy with something so seeing him now, not doing anything and visibly frustrated, but not yelling or throwing stuff against the wall or across the room was a strange sight, to say the least.

"Why don't you go visit Molly at Bart's? See if she's got anything interesting for you, maybe some strange information on a dead body. I don't know… do the stuff you usually do when you're at Bart's."

"There is no usual in what I do there." Sherlock told John.

"Ok."

Thinking for a minute, Sherlock realized that it might be a good idea, and he would go and see Molly.

Where did that thought come from? He wondered. It wasn't like him to want to see other people; they were usually boring, uninteresting. Molly Hooper though, didn't really fit into that category. She was small, helpful and she often seem to anticipate what he needed when he was doing experiments.

Yes, going to see Molly, was definitely, a valid option. He didn't really understand the reason for his state of mind but he suddenly seemed calmer and happier. Sherlock Holmes was out of the door a moment later, a few instants later and the flat door opened once again.

"Text me, if there is any new case, but it has to be at least worth…"

"… An 8 or a 9, yes, Sherlock, I know."

And with that, the detective consultant was gone. John shook his head in disbelief and smiled, the man would never change. He thought his friend needed a woman in his life. Even though Sherlock thought a woman would only slow him down, bore him even, it wouldn't be a bad thing for him to have something else on his mind other than murders and criminals. Didn't the man know that one only has one life and that one can't live it over? Probably not.

With those thoughts in his mind, John checked out Sherlock's email box. Most of the contents of the box weren't really interesting. Most of it was rubbish or junk mail, there was one though that might seem to be an interesting case. A body had been found in the middle of a dressmaker's dummy. A body wasn't precisely the right word choice apparently, because all Pierre Dubois, the man in charge of the presentation of the new collection of dresses, had found when he was looking for a dummy in the storeroom almost gave him a heart attack: as he grabbed for it, and pulled at it, Pierre ended up holding a human forearm and hand. John read a few more details about it and was about to text Sherlock about it when another email came in.

His friend would love it.

He texted him telling him the details of the possible cases and when he got a response from him, it was to ask him to join him at the first crime scene. John grabbed his jacket, but took the time to close the computer. Five minutes later, he was sitting in a taxi heading for the crime scene. He supposed that Sherlock would have already texting Molly asking her to examine the body parts.

When he arrived about ten minutes later, Sherlock was already talking to Lestrade. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but from what he could see, his friend seemed restless once again. Something was not right with the Consulting Detective today.

"So, what do we have?" Watson asked.

"Molly's not answering my text messages." Sherlock answered immediately.

"I was talking about the case, Sherlock."

Rolling his eyes, the detective answered, "it's obvious, John, body parts. Don't you have eyes?"

This was going to be a very long day, John thought.

Greg Lestrade looked at John Watson when Sherlock was busy typing another text message to someone. The doctor guessed it must be yet another one to Molly Hooper seeing as she didn't seem to be answering him. Which in itself was very odd, it wasn't like her not to answer her text messages and certainly not when they were from Sherlock Holmes. The woman loved him so much anyone who knew her could see it. He was certain his best friend knew it as well, but apparently, the man had chosen not to act on it as he was convinced having someone in his life would only interfere with it.

"What's wrong with him?" Greg asked when Sherlock was out of earshot.

"I honestly don't know." John answered the policeman.

"I mean, I'm used to him having moods and being cranky, but this…"

"He's been like this all morning and I have absolutely no idea why."

"Did his brother call him?"

"Mycroft? Not that I have any knowledge of it."

"Did something happen with Molly?" Lestrade ventured.

"With Molly? Not that I can recall, the woman loves the man, she worships him. Even though I would love for her to send him flying sometimes… no they're fine. As if our detective would care about how she feels… sometimes, I wonder if he knows she's a woman at all and not his personal puppet."

"You have a point. Maybe she's finally had enough and refuses to talk to him."

"I think, that will be the day pigs might fly."

"You're right. If he wasn't so moody he wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes after all." With that said, they heard Sherlock coming back toward them. He stopped near John to tell them there was nothing more he could do there and that he was heading for Barts to see if he could run some tests with Molly's assistance.

"I might be wrong, but I'm fairly certain that not all the body parts belong to one and the same person." And with that, Sherlock was gone heading off in a Taxi to Barts

John and Greg just looked at one another in disbelief.

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: thank you to everyone who has reviewed/favorite or left kudos. The characters have once again taken over from me so, I'm not sure which direction this one will take.**

 **Chapter 3**

Sherlock swung through the door of Barts morgue, expecting to see Molly working on the body parts they'd brought in, but as he looked around Dr. Hooper was nowhere to be seen. His brows lifted, this was really strange; Molly hadn't replied to his text messages and she wasn't at work. But there was not time to wonder about where she might be or what was going on with her, Molly was a big girl and she could take care of herself.

There was something more important to do right now: solving a case to catch a killer. He wouldn't admit it, but he was annoyed at the fact that Molly wasn't there. Mike wasn't a bad pathologist, but he wasn't Molly Hooper. She was precise, accurate, she could anticipate his needs and demands like no one else could. He would maybe stop by her flat later on today and see how she was doing…

Wait… was he actually wondering how she was doing? Where had that come from? _Concentrate on the case, you have a killer to catch, Sherlock_ he grumbled to himself. There was even a possibility that there'd be more than one killer. He wasn't sure of that yet, the only thing he was certain of was that the body parts belonged to different people, some parts fresher than others, but how could no one have seen that before? It was obvious to the detective that one of the legs had passed sometime in a freezer before being placed in that storage room. Why couldn't people simple use their eyes and observe instead of simply seeing?

He would have to run tests to be sure of the date of the murder, but there was no doubt in his mind that some of the legs and arms belonged to women that had been killed way before the others had been.

John and Greg arrived about five minutes later and Sherlock's friends both frowned when they couldn't see Molly. Mike was there so they'd have to make do with him but they both knew that it was going to be a long…a very long day. Sherlock would be more irritable and crankier than usual because Mike just wasn't as meticulous as Dr. Hooper.

Lestrade spotted the detective, he was reading a file. Greg thought he'd be upstairs in one of the labs, studying a sample of skin or doing an experiment, but no. John Watson fished for his mobile phone in his jacket pocket and texted Molly.

 _Is everything alright? JW_

He frowned as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket a few moments later, he hadn't expected her to respond so quickly. Sherlock had told him earlier that she hadn't answered any of his text messages. The text wasn't from Molly though it was from one of his old friend, from his army days, asking him if he fancied a drink later this week… it wasn't really what he had had in mind for the end of the week, and he didn't want to make real plans until the end of this case. For some reason, he had the impression that this particular case would take longer than usual. So, he texted back that he wasn't free this week, but that he'd let him know when he would be able to go and have a drink with him.

John's thoughts went back to Molly; it was not like her not to answer her text messages even when she wasn't pleased with someone. He decided that he would try to call her later.

"Everything alright?" John asked Greg when he came to stand next to him.

"I don't know. What do you think of that?" The policeman inquired nodding his head in the direction of the Consulting Detective.

When Watson's eyes fell on Sherlock, his left eye brow lifted. "What… now that's new…"

His friend hadn't moved an inch from where he stood, file still in hand, he seemed to be reading though he hadn't turned a single page. This wasn't like him. Sherlock wasn't the kind of man that would let his thoughts divert from a case, so he must have seen something.

John walked toward him. "Is there something wrong?"

"What?" Sherlock suddenly asked as if snapping out of a trance.

"I was asking you if there was something wrong?"

"No. No, I'm fine, everything's fine." Sherlock retorted a bit too fast. He hoped his friend wouldn't notice; he didn't say anything about it if he had.

 _I've seen you go through a lot, my friend, we've been through a lot together, but this is anything but fine_ , John Watson thought to himself. Something was going on because he saw Sherlock stare at something written on that report. He wanted to know what it was, but he knew that pushing the matter wouldn't make Sherlock talk. He'd share it with him when he judged the time was right.

 **000**

Molly sat in her flat at the small kitchen table staring at her cup of tea. She had been to work that morning like she had planned to and had every intention of talking to Sherlock whenever he would swing through the door, but then as time passed by, she had started to think that maybe, she just shouldn't tell him what was on her mind after all. She wasn't sure anymore… was it all worth it? Would he even understand? Maybe he would, but then what? He'd probably dismiss her, thinking she was being ridiculous. And what if he decided to exclude her from his life? Molly didn't think she would survive that. In the end, she hadn't been able to stay at Barts and was thankful that Mike had been so compassionate giving her a few days off

She stood and went into her living room to the small desk where she kept sheets of paper and pens. Molly hesitated for a few moments more, before she finally made up her mind. She would tell him everything she had in her heart, but just in case she couldn't find the courage, she decided she would write it down.

Pen and paper in hand, Molly Hooper went back into the kitchen and returned to her place on the chair she'd been sat on previously. It took a few moments thought before she started to write; the thing was, she didn't really know where to start.

 _Dear Sherlock,_

 _I guess, the time has come for me to tell you how I really feel about you. I suspect that you know it already, but that you willingly chose not to act on it. First of all you have to know that I admire you and respect you. You have such an amazing mind, I'm privileged to know you, but I can't go on like this anymore._

 _Caring for you is not an important thing, I get that. I know that you like to have your mind focused on the case when one comes along. I love helping you and being able to anticipate your needs on a case, I love working with you, Sherlock, but I can't take the way you treat me anymore or other people for that matter. I don't want to change you, I just want to make you understand that caring about someone isn't a disease, or a virus that you get sick of. No, love and care enrich your personality as well as your life… I know it, because even though I spend my days with cadavers in the morgue, with victims of crimes, accidents or whatever it is that has ended they lives they talk to me. Not verbally of course, but at the end of the day, I am their voice when I am able to put their relatives at ease by providing them with an answer to their questions. I know what you're thinking: no one can really give them all the answers, but still, I can tell them if their loved one suffered or not when they passed away. That's what I do, Sherlock, my job is as important for me as it is for you, except that I have feelings that I can't suppress. I'm not a machine, I want to love and live. Sure, loving someone can hurt, but it's better to be hurt by loving someone who doesn't love you back than not to love at all, believe me._

 _We have one life and it's short, we both know that but I want to enjoy it as much as possible, and I'd like you to stay in it but I will not let myself be treated like a puppet or being discarded by you whenever you don't need me anymore. Your violin is handled with more respect than the people in your life and by people, I mean, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, you don't even bother to remember his first name, and me._

 _You're missing a great deal in your life, Sherlock. Life is so full of wonderful things and you won't ever know about them because you won't let yourself be sentimental. I love you, and will miss you so very much, but I'm done._

 _I've decide to move on._

 _Yours sincerely, Molly._

After rereading her letter to Sherlock several times, she folded the paper and placed it in an envelope then sealed it, and on the envelope, she simply wrote: To Sherlock Holmes. Once it was done, she sighed heavily as a solitary tear rolled down her left cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank, you for the favourite/followers and kudos.**

 **Chapter 4**

The hardest thing for Molly to do was to leave everything behind her like that, but she couldn't do anything other than to leave, even if only for a couple of days. She needed time away from Sherlock Holmes, her feelings for him were almost disabling her and she hadn't realised it until recently. He filled her thoughts, her dreams, lately she had caught herself day dreaming. And for what? Nothing, because the man haunting her dreams and thoughts didn't even see her as a woman, he saw her as just some useful person, and for her own sake she could not allow it any longer.

Maybe she could go to her mother's for a few days… her mother would be happy to see her, she always asked her to come and visit. She had refused each and every time on the pretext she had too much work, which was not entirely wrong, but if she was honest with herself it was because she hoped that she would see Sherlock swing through the door of the morgue during the day, she would be performing an autopsy and he would ask questions… he would stand close to her and she'd be able to smell him.

 _Poor girl why for bloody cry sake do you keep hoping? All you do is torturing yourself._

Maybe there she will find some peace and forget about Sherlock, her job, London. Not that she didn't love her job, she did. It'd always brought her great satisfaction, but lately he had become more and more difficult for her to find the sense of accomplishment in her job. It felt more like he was doing her job not because she wanted to it to help other find some peace not, she did it because she'd do anything for a dark-haired tall man with piercing blue eyes. All her life was set around him.

She had to live for her, do things for her and not for him. Molly decide firmly. She headed for her bedroom and fished for her rather small suitcase. She had never been the type of person who felt to need to travel all over the world. She didn't mind to so from time to time, but she also loved to stay in England. Now she was leaving her flat for a few days and she was happy to do so.

"Any news from Molly, yet?" John Watson asked his friend.

"No." Sherlock answered, dryly.

"And… that doesn't bother you?"

"No, why would the fact that Molly Hopper doesn't answer my texts, bother me?"

"Oh, I don't know… simply because it is unusual for her."

"Is it?" Sherlock wondered.

"Don't do that."

"Do what, John?" He asked surprised.

"Pretend like you don't care. You know I'm right. Molly always answers your texts within two minutes, and now she hasn't respond to any of your messages, has she?"

Sherlock Holmes fished in his pocket to retrieve his phone to check if Molly had responded to his text messages, but she hadn't. His left eyebrow lifted. John was right; it was odd that the pathologist hadn't text him back yet.

His friend was looking at him and he noticed a slight change in the man's face.

"Sherlock, what's the matter?"

"You are right, there is something going on. I've send about twenty-five texts to Molly and she hadn't answer any single one of them, and let's say that I haven't been delicate in my the last few ones… if she would have read those she would have marched over here and slap me on the cheek."

He scrolled the conversation on his smartphone until he found the ones he needed and showed them to John.

"You would have definitely earned a slap for those. Maybe she would not have come over here for it…" he was stopped from saying more as Sherlock showed him one he had send her through Watsapp…

When he read to text message, his mouth fell open in shock, after a moment he manages to say: "You didn't!

"Of course, I did, you see that I did send her that text. I wanted to make her react, but she didn't." He said, suddenly starting to realize that something was wrong.

"I think it's time for her us to go to her flat." John declared.

Sherlock nodded following John through the door of the morgue as he did so he dialed a phone number and put the phone to his ear.

"Mycroft?"

Molly wondered where she was. She'd fallen asleep on the train on her way to her mother's, apparently. It took a few moments to accustom to her surroundings and for a moment, she panicked thinking she'd passed the station where she needed to stop at to get to her mothers. Thank goodness, the train hadn't arrived yet.

Someone approached her at that moment. "Are you alright madam?"

"I'm fine thank you, I guess I must have fallen asleep soon after, the train departed."

"May I?" The man asked Molly with a smile.

Smiling back, she answered affirmatively.

"You're on holiday?"

"No really, I'm going to visit my mother. It's been a while."

"I see." He responded.

"And you? Are you having some vacation time?" She asked suddenly, curious.

"No, unfortunately not, I'm going to work, I'm a journalist."

"Oh, that must be an interesting job!" Molly said excitingly.

"It has its moments, but it can also be pretty boring."

"What's the most exciting thing you've ever written an article about?"

"Murder cases."

At his answer Molly couldn't help but sighed heavily and said, "another one."

The man sitting next to her lifted his eyebrows at her words. "Excuse me?"

Molly blushed has she realized the words to thought she had kept for herself had actually been said, out lout.

"I'm sorry, it's just that, I have a friend and his fascinated by murder cases, it sees them as puzzles to solve."

"It's a bit of the same for me, except I let someone else solve the puzzle and then I write about it. I wonder what it is that pushes someone so far that he or she becomes a killer."

"I try to provide answers to the families…" Molly said after a moment.

"How so?"

"I'm a pathologist. I work at Bart's morgue." She explained, expected that the man sitting next to her would stand up and sit somewhere else. He didn't.

"My name is James Bowen by the way." He said extending his hand to her.

"Molly Hooper. Dr. Molly Hooper." She responded taking his hand in hers.

"Nice to meet you, Molly Hooper!"

"Likewise." The pathologist said with a smile.

A few moments later, Molly noticed that James looked at her intently. "Is there something wrong?" She inquired, suddenly feeling nervous under his stare.

"Oh no, no, sorry. It's just… since you told me your name… it sounds familiar and I cannot pin point why, that's all."

"You've probably have written my names in your articles before, if you're interested by murder cases. I sometimes assist Sherlock Holmes from time to time…"

"Oh my… you know Sherlock Holmes?"

 _Why had she said that? Why had she mentioned Sherlock's name? the entire purpose of this voyage to see her mother was to forget Sherlock Holmes so, why had she mentioned him for cry sake? Molly girl you like to torture yourself mentally. She couldn't pretend she hadn't said she knew the Detective so, she confirmed it._

With a heavy sighed she said, "Yes, I know him." But that's all I'm willing to say about him."

"How does he work?" James asked.

"I'm not going to say one more word." Molly insisted.

"Ok, sorry, I didn't want to offend you. It's just that its fascinating to see how his mind words and the way the man solves crimes is somewhat unusual."

"That it is." The words had left her before she realized it. Molly could help smiling has he mind pictured him working on a something interesting.

The visit to her mother might be more interesting than she first thought it would be. James seemed to be a nice guy and who knows maybe something could come out of this… she suddenly felt a bit stupid and desperate. Hopefully, she wouldn't become one of those women ready be a man no matter what he looked like as long as it was a man.

Sherlock accompanied by John were seated in a taxi heading for Molly Hooper's flat. When John knocked on the door, both of them expected to hear her voice telling them to wait just a minute before coming to open the door, but nothing came. They waited a few more moments, John knocked again… they waited still nothing.

"Maybe we should enter." John suggested. "She could have fallen and be unconscious, lying on her bathroom floor"

"If that's the case that could explain why she doesn't answer the door." Sherlock said, pensively. After a couple of seconds, he made his decision. John watched as he saw his friend grab for something in his pockets…

The clock of Molly's flat was picked after a few instants, Sherlock entered followed by John who closed the door behind him.

Nothing seemed out of place, the flat was small and tidy. Sherlock looked around the kitchen while John looked the other rooms. There was no trace of Molly Hooper.

"She's not here."

"I got that. She left for a few days."

"What, you do you… never mind."

"Toby's not here…"

"Toby?"

"Her cat. My guess is she left it with her best friend. That's the most logical explanation. There hasn't been any grocery shopping for a couple days judging from what's in the cupboards…" He pointed out. Sherlock was about to continue when John call his name.

"Mmhm, what is John?"

"I found this envelope in the drawer… it's… it's addressed to you."

Sherlock Holmes looked surprised when he recognized Molly's handwriting. He opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper and started to read the words Molly had written.

 _Dear Sherlock,_

 _I guess, the time has come for me to tell you how I really feel about you. I suspect that you know it already, but that you willingly chose not to act on it. First of all, you have to know that I admire you and respect you. You have such an amazing mind, I'm privileged to know you, but I can't go on like this anymore._

 _Caring for you is not an important thing, I get that. I know that you like to have your mind focused on the case when one comes along. I love helping you and being able to anticipate your needs on a case, I love working with you, Sherlock, but I can't take the way you treat me anymore or other people for that matter. I don't want to change you, I just want to make you understand that caring about someone isn't a disease, or a virus that you get sick of. No, love and care enrich your personality as well as your life… I know it, because even though I spend my days with cadavers in the morgue, with victims of crimes, accidents or whatever it is that has ended they lives they talk to me. Not verbally of course, but at the end of the day, I am their voice when I am able to put their relatives at ease by providing them with an answer to their questions. I know what you're thinking: no one can really give them all the answers, but still, I can tell them if their loved one suffered or not when they passed away. That's what I do, Sherlock, my job is as important for me as it is for you, except that I have feelings that I can't suppress. I'm not a machine, I want to love and live. Sure, loving someone can hurt, but it's better to be hurt by loving someone who doesn't love you back than not to love at all, believe me…_

 _We have one life and it's short, we both know that but I want to enjoy it as much as possible, and I'd like you to stay in it but I will not let myself be treated like a puppet or being discarded by you whenever you don't need me anymore. Your violin is handled with more respect than the people in your life and by people, I mean, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, you don't even bother to remember his first name, and me._

 _You're missing a great deal in your life, Sherlock. Life is so full of wonderful things and you won't ever know about them because you won't let yourself be sentimental. I love you, and will miss you so very much, but I'm done._

 _I've decide to move on._

 _Yours sincerely, Molly._

John looked at him as he read the paper in his hands and he noticed some very slight changes in his face, his jaw tightening almost unperceptively. His long fingers grasping the sheet of paper more firmly. He was certain, Sherlock himself wasn't aware of this changes in his posture, but they were there, whatever that letter contained, the detective didn't like it.

"Sherlock are you alright?" John asked.

No response came, all he got was disdain, his friend let the paper fall of his hands landing on the floor; He watched as Sherlock left the flat without a word.

 _What the… "_ Sherlock wait!" He called after him as he picked up the letter Molly had written to the him. He ran after him. His friend was hailing a taxi.

"What's going on?"

"Go ahead, read Molly's letter."

John Watson did as he was told, and couldn't help a small smirk that appeared on his lips.

"What are you smirking about?" Sherlock asked aggravated.

"She finally did it. Molly finally told you what she had in her heart, you finally know you are insensitive and hurtful a lot of times."

"It's not my fault that people can handle my way of being. I can't reshape myself to please others. It's not my fault that great minds can't be understood."

"No, it's not your fault, but as your as such a great mind as you say, you could be a little bit more considerate of others and definitely the ones who care about you. And as far as I'm concern the girl has been right to tell you all that she did. And she's also right about the fact that you miss a lot in your life."

"No, I'm not." He huffed as with that, John knew their conversation was over.

When the taxi stopped the claimed into it in silence.

 **So, Molly is up to visit her mother, she met a journalist on the way, will they stay simply an acquittanced or will there be a development in their relationship? Did Molly's letter not affect him? How will he react if Molly stays away longer than a few days?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **I'm sorry, it took me so long to update.**

 **I've had some personal issues for starters then I started to have doubts about this story, but as I enjoy writing it, I guess to keep going was the right thing to do. I hope you'll still like it. Sherlock has some stuff to deal with, I guess. He has read Molly's letter but seems to have difficulties to accepted what it is saying. So, let's see where it goes.**

At 221B Baker street, John found a grumpy Sherlock when he arrived which didn't surprise him. It had been this way since they had paid a visit to Molly Hooper's place.

"I'm guessing you haven't had any news from Molly?" John Watson asked his friend point blank, not even bothering to say good morning first.

"Why would I have any news from her, she's a big girl, isn't she?" Sherlock answered briskly.

"Alright." John simply said as he sat at the desk, where he observed the grumpy and undressed Sherlock. Thank goodness, Sherlock wasn't walking around naked. There was no interesting new email either, what the mail box did contain though was a bunch of junk mail.

John wondered how Molly was doing. How long would it take his friend to see that he missed her? He would probably never admit that he cared about her in the first place.

"I don't suppose, it interests you, to know that everything's perfect in my life?"

"Huh? Did you say something, John?"

John sighed heavily at Sherlock's response. At least he used to pretend he was interested in what you were telling him. Now he didn't even bother to pretend anymore. "No, no. It's alright, I didn't say a word to you."

"Don't be silly John. I know you said something, I just didn't pay attention that's all. Now, simply tell me what's on your mind."

"You really want to know what's on my mind? I don't think so. Why would I bother anyway, you never tell me what's on yours?"

Sherlock sighed annoyed. "If you must know, Molly's on my mind."

Holmes didn't receive any answer from John for the next five minutes as his friend was too surprised by what he had just said.

When he finally found his voice again, John asked, "what about Molly?"

"No, John, I'm not thinking about her in that way. I simply don't understand why she left. Why now? It doesn't make sense. She's the best pathologist I know… we're in the middle of a case… which I'm not yet one hundred percent sure if there is one or more killers at work. She leaves and for what reason: to see her mother probably. Preposterous!"

Now that was a response John wasn't surprised to hear coming from him.

"I didn't know she belonged to you or that she was even your slave." John said looking at Sherlock.

In response, John only received annoyance from him. "She's a valuable assistant, I don't need to explain everything to her, she can anticipate what I need. So, why did she choose to leave?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's not exactly as though you tell her that you value her help. To you everything she does for you is normal. She explained it all to you in that letter. I don't know many people who'd do half of the things Molly Hooper does for you without asking for anything in return. I think she's reach her limit, Sherlock."

"What do you mean, she's reached her limit?"

"Oh, come on, you're Sherlock Holmes the greatest mind in the world in the 21st century and you don't know what I'm talking about, really?"

He continued. "Did you really think, that she would be happy with the kind of relationship you have with her forever?"

"I'm not good at expressing my feelings you know that. She knows that for heaven's sake. I don't want to let myself be burdened by matters of the heart during a case. You know how I am."

John Watson sighed. "Yes Sherlock, I know that. Molly knows it too, but the problem is you never let yourself be burdened by anything at any moment even when we have no case for you to work on. You are so self-absorbed you don't even see what's in front of you or ever better said you purposefully refuse to see it. Reason enough for Molly to finally close the door and leave if you're asking me."

This is going to be even easier than I thought it would. Molly Hooper is such a sweet creature. It's sad that I will have to kill her soon, unless Sherlock Holmes finds me first but I doubt he will.

It won't be too long before I manage to seduce her. A few right words here and there and she'll be in my bed. Once she'll be certain she's in love with me, I will kill just like I kill the others.

Tick tock… tick tock. The clock is ticking Mr. Holmes.

Sitting behind a desk, a smile spread on his lips, the man reread what he had just written. Perfect.

He still wondered though if he should print it and send it to the man in question, post it on his blog or simply keep it to himself. What fun was there in that? He asked himself.

He makes his decision there and then, he would post it; now was not the right time, though. He wasn't about to give Sherlock Holmes some extra cards. If he was as great a mind as the man said he was, he wouldn't need them.

But first and foremost, the first thing that needs to be taken care of is… Dr. Molly Hooper. Now what was it again? Ah yes, of course, she has a cat and only one best friend She'd do anything in her power to make Sherlock Holmes happy because she's in love with him although Holmes doesn't seem to reciprocate the feeling.

Interesting.

Her mother's ill for the time being, she has a sister, but doesn't really see her much. Like I said this should be an easy task.

Molly Hooper couldn't believe her luck. She'd just left her flat on her way to her mother's and she had already met a very charming man. James Bowen.

"Molly?" she heard a voice call her name.

"Yes, mother, I'm coming." Molly Hooper answered her mother.

She smiled as she thought about James. She closed the door to her old bedroom and went to the living room where her mother was sitting watching something on the TV.

"How is that Sherlock Holmes of yours doing?"

"Mother. First of all, he isn't mine and for all I know he is doing perfectly fine." Molly hoped that the annoyance she felt didn't come through her voice, but it did.

"Pumpkin, what is it?"

"Nothing, mother."

"Molly, I might be sick and old, but I know my daughter."

"You are not old mother, you have a bad cold that's all it is."

"What do the doctors know about it."

Her mother could hear another sigh coming from her daughter. Now she was certain of it something was wrong with her daughter. She'd never understood why her girl had chosen the occupation she had. She couldn't understand what her daughter found fascinating about being surrounded by death, even though she'd explained it more than once. Nevertheless, she'd moved to London for it and since then she'd barely taken any holiday. She'd telephoned her regularly and all she could ever talk about whenever they were on the phone was Sherlock this… Sherlock that… and when she had asked about how the man in question was doing, her daughter seemed frustrated.

"Well they know, they've studied medicine." Molly said between her teeth.

"Molly what is going on with you?"

"I've left London, I've left Barts, I've left everything behind me."

"What? Why? You've sacrificed so much to be able to live in London. You love it there."

"Well I'm not sure I love it that much anymore."

Molly's mother didn't say anything at first, she simply observed her daughter for a while. A slow smile appeared on the woman's lips after a moment. "Could it be that your sudden dislike for London has anything to do with a certain man living in… where was it again that he lives… oh yes… 221B Baker Street."

"Mother!"

"I am right!" Molly's mother said triumphally. "I knew it!"

Not saying a word at her mother's victory, her reason for coming to visit her, she went to the small kitchen in the house where she knew she would find the kettle to boil water for some tea. She put two cups on a tray and fished out two tea bags, not bothering to ask her mother which one she wanted, she knew her taste.

As she waited for the kettle to whistle, her thoughts swirled toward James Bower, which pleasantly surprised her.

Later when the water boiled and the kettle whistled, Molly poured some of the heated translucent liquid into the cups. After putting the kettle back, she picked up the tray and went with it into the living-room, her thoughts still turning toward the man she had met on the train on her way here.

She handed a cup to her mother before she sat herself on the couch. Molly Hooper felt happiness invading her; something that hadn't happened to her for a very long while. A life without Sherlock Holmes didn't seem so unthinkable suddenly anymore.

Unbeknownst to both a pair of green eyes was watching them from across the street.

 _Enjoy the quiet moment of happiness while you still can Molly because, once you're mine they won't exist anymore._

TBC…


End file.
